


seven places

by megyal



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-06
Updated: 2006-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ficlets/drabbles about seven places...locations, really.</p>
    </blockquote>





	seven places

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlets/drabbles about seven places...locations, really.

_1\. In a screened in porch in the middle of a thunderstorm._   


"This is more fun than I thought it would be." Patrick's voice was melodic awe, eyes narrowed at Pete who was in the process of trying to devour the back of Patrick's knee. Pete rolled his eyes comically.

" _God_ , Pete Wentz makes a good decision. Warn the villages. Mayhem approaches!" Pete taunted, trailing his fingers down Patrick's upraised leg, the one that was pressed up on Pete's chest and shoulder. Being naked on Nana Wentz's wooden screened porch was certainly helped by the large quilt Nana Wentz made. And the conspicuous absence of Nana Wentz.

"Just shut up, please? Because this is way too cool to waste time with words like you tend to do," Patrick retorted slyly from his vantage point of leaning back against his elbows, and Pete leered down at him.

"I'm a master among words. Also, I am a sex god. Write that down," Pete said with great airs, and proceeded to ravish Patrick as fine droplets of rain insisted on sneaking in past the fine mesh of the porch to patter fearlessly on intertwined skin.

  


  
_2\. In the back of a limo._   


  


" _Hej_ ," Maja was whispering appreciatively against the collar of Greta's dress. " _Hur är det_?"

How Greta had been invited to the Snakes on A Plane Soundtrack party was beyond her. But here she was, in the biggest black limo probably ever made, and Maja was still talking in liquid Swedish, tongue slipping over unfamiliar combinations of vowels as that same tongue, dammit, was doing unspeakably delightful things to the smooth line of her neck. Greta tried to concentrate. Not really working, but she was always told she had a persistent character.

" _Tack, bara bra_ ," she managed to mutter, labouring over the hard consonant at the end of the first word. She felt Maja smile and giggle against the skin under her ear. She felt the clumpy mass of Maja's eyelashes converse with the hairs there. She felt boneless.

"Very good, yes. Now. If you will open your legs, just a little?" Maja questioned a little plaintively and sighed as Greta hesitated only for a bit, and then complied. "We have a few minutes for the party, you see? Will we make it good?"

Greta wriggled helplessly against the hand that was sliding delicately from her bent knee and up her thigh.

" _Ja_. _Ja_ , we'll make it good," she replied as the hand found her warmth.  


  


  
_3\. On the kitchen table._   


  


Pete nearly got jabbed in the eye by a paring knife and Patrick had the palm of his hand in the butter dish before either of them would admit that having sex on the Wentz breakfast table at three a.m. was probably not the best idea in the world.

This admission came after they did.  


  


  
_4\. On a hotel balcony._   


  


Greta was finding it easy to make references to Maja as the Female Pete, as she leaned against the thick green railing. The same sort of brash harsh words, the same sort of saunter, even the same height. If Maja was Pete, then that would surely make _her_ Patrick, Greta mused, and then grimaced a little as she stared at the rising sun from Maja's hotel-room balcony. No way could she be the Stump. Not enough talent.

"So lovely," Maja yawned as she slid out the glass door in a short white towel, and leaned against the railing too, true rock-star. Greta tried hard not to stare the long expanse of shimmery-white leg that Maja was so fond of displaying. Showoff. Maja lit a cigarette and Greta refrained from wiggling her nose.

"Come back to bed, dahlink," Maja drawled, being funny in her own way and Greta tried to smile a little. What this _was_ , she didn't really know, because Maja was the Blonde Bombshell (take cover, fellas!) and Greta was...the Stump wannabe. The world was just a little fucked up.

"It is too early to wrinkle your face. Don't think too hard," Maja advised, and Greta snorted.

"I was...thinking about something better you could be doing with that mouth, instead of smoking," Greta offered in a low, shy voice and Maja's slanted eyes lit up, and then smouldered.

"Here is fine?" Maja was sly and Greta almost told her that she really didn't need to be sly at all, because she was the BB (The Blonde BombshellTM) and Greta tried to move in with a sensuality that was foreign to her, but the way Maja was smiling, amused, but interested, maybe she wasn't doing so bad after all.

She leaned into Maja, feeling her smoky breath heat against her cheek and her ear, and in a sudden move of affection she rubbed the tip of her nose against Maja's. Instead of being customarily condescending, Maja grinned even more, slung her hand around Greta's neck, cigarette dangling uselessly, and bit her bottom lip, then turning so that their hips were angling together and groaning a little.  
Stump-wannabe, indeed. Maybe there was something to that.  


  


  
_5\. On the bathroom floor._   


  


"Yow, is there a reason we can't get to the bed?" Pete complained without any real heat because, yeah, _nice_. His hot back wriggling against the cool white tiles of the bathroom floor while his lap was full of Patrick was _nice_. He could hear Patrick snickering and he opened his eyes, grinning, because that sound was maliciously cute, and that was really the crux of Patrick Stump: he was really a damned bastard, but he was so adorable at it.

Patrick leaned down and licked his cheek, biting him under one eye and Pete tried to make a sharp sound of grievance, but unfortunately it transferred from his vocal chords as a deep moan, because this was too _nice_ , okay? Shit. And now Patrick was arching against him, one hand flexing through the careful machinations of Pete's hair, the other gripping him on one highly decorated bicep, and his own hands were committing the planes of Patrick's back to memory, yet _again_ , sliding up between the shoulder blades and then massaging back down, enchanted in everything, the way they were hard against each other, the way the world was tinged with shadow at the edge of his vision when he came, and how Patrick was still in the centre of that vision, eyes azure with want as _he_ came, and this was _nice_.  


  


  
_6\. On a Ferris wheel_   


  


Greta had been certain that she would not have liked the big red Ferris Wheel, because of, you know, the whole heights thing, but if she could get used to it if Maja would continue to hold her hand. Maja was using her other hand to point out the lights of downtown Osaka sprawled away from them (why someone would perch a Ferris wheel on top of a building was a logic that escaped Greta right now) but Maja was calling out Helsingborg streets instead of Japanese ones.

"Slottshagsgatan," she was saying softly, squeezing Greta's clammy hand and Greta shivered a bit, so the hand was squeezed more. "Oh, and Bergaliden, and you can turn onto Södergatan from it."

"You miss home," Greta stated, because this was how it was on tour, riding on high and trying to superimpose the streets you know with the streets you don't and Maja nodded absently, platinum blonde curls wisping around her sharp little face. Her hand had become loose in Greta's and Greta gripped back on it firmly, and kissed her on the poised angle of her cheek as the big red wheel halted at the top of Osaka (Helsingborg) and Maja laughed a little, arching her neck so that Greta could get at the fine lines there, mapping and memorizing them.  


  


  
_7\. On a deserted island._   


  


Pete remembered a question in the Q&A, long ago (maybe two years; therefore _long ago_ ), and it was something to the tune of asking him if he would choose between Patrick or an Ipod full of his favourite songs to have on a deserted island, and he recalled thinking disdainfully (and answering) that Patrick _was_ an Ipod of his favourite songs, and now that they were on this deserted island (fuck, it was just a secluded shaded area of a tropical beach, but excuse him for being highly imaginative, white sand will do that to a person) he could just ask Patrick any song, and Patrick would hum it softly, mostly against Pete's skin ( _Unchained Melody_ to the clavicle, _Thriller_ on the olive inside of his elbow, something vaguely reggae-ish against his spine) and Pete understood the true meaning of delight as Patrick chose to hum _Dead on Arrival_ , leaving Pete to gasp as his trunks were peeled down and Patrick's tongue curled around the tip of his cock and the line _No it's not the last time because I'd never say no to you_ was vibrating through him as he arched up.

 _Pffft_ , his brain mused blankly as he came back down, feeling Patrick kiss his way up back his body and then he could taste himself, bitter on Patrick's tongue.

"Fuck the Ipod," he muttered, and Patrick laughed.

"But aren't you?"

  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Hej_ =Hey, hello  
>  _Hur är det_?= How are you?  
>  _Tack, bara bra_ = Fine, thanks  
>  _Ja=_ Yes.


End file.
